Page 34 of The Cupcake Cottage

“The cupcake cottage.” She peeled back the lid from the container in her arms. The pastel icing on her cupcakes matched the faded paint. The swirls she had decorated echoed the carvings on his house. “You live in a cupcake.”

He snatched one, peeling its paper liner. “You copied my house. The cupcake came second, meaning my house is not a cupcake.”

“Hey, these are for dessert. And anyway, doesn’t Athena have y’all on sugar restriction?”

“Don’t tell my mom. Or Louis. Or Athena.” He took a giant bite out of the cupcake. His brows lifted in surprise and he let out a contented sound. “These are fantastic.”

“I know.” She put the lid back on the cupcakes and brushed a dab of frosting from his chin.

He edged closer, his feet bracketing hers. “Where else do I have some?”

“You’re fine, cupcake stealer.”

He took the last half of the cupcake and lifted it to his mouth, smearing the pale yellow and blue icing along his top lip. He leaned closer. “How about now?”

She laughed and darted away before he could get her sticky. “You’re a disaster!” His hand snaked around her waist, and she squealed and giggled as he drew her to his side. “You’ll make me drop my cupcakes.”

“When you two are done flirting”—Dylan O’Neill stood on the porch with his crutches, looking amused—“your mom wants to know if you fixed that last chair.”

Maverick groaned and released Daisy-Mae. “I thought making it into the NHL would get her to ease up on the chores.”

“I heard that,” his mom, Carol, said from the doorway. “And the only way I’m letting up is when you get married and have somebody else nagging you to get these things done. There’s more to life than hockey.”

Maverick and Dylan laughed, knowing that when the team was in season, there really wasn’t much more to life than hockey, as much as their families wished there was.

Dylan and Carol filtered back into the house with Maverick and Daisy-Mae trailing behind.

“And Maverick, wash your face,” Carol scolded, popping her head through the doorway as they approached.

Maverick’s tongue flicked at his lips guiltily as they stepped into the entry, and Daisy-Mae laughed. “You’d better wash up.”

“Good idea.” He tagged her lightly on the hip, pivoting into a room immediately to the right.

Daisy-Mae took in his house from the front door. It smelled like turkey, seasonings, and a home with history. The floors were wood, shining from their recent abuse with a sander and layers of new finish. The odd dark gouge or scratch showed through, proved their originality, giving the home character. The walls had the unevenness that spoke of lathe and plaster, and she could see some partially completed projects from where she stood.

To her right, the sound of running water trickled her way from where a small bathroom had been tucked. There was a short wall between the powder room doorway and a staircase leading up to the second floor. She stepped forward, checkingher hair in the mirror above the small table Carol had picked up last weekend.

The house was smaller than she had expected but gave the illusion of being larger due to the sunshine streaming in from the living room just beyond the staircase.

Daisy-Mae set her purse on the table’s lower braces, which had been made to also serve as a shelf. As she straightened with her cupcakes, her eyes caught on the items resting on the table. A wooden bowl with a few sets of car keys. Maverick’s, no doubt. Beside that sat a small, clear stand-up frame meant for rare hockey cards. But inside was something homemade. Something familiar.

With her heart beating, she set down her container and picked up the case, staring at the card she’d created almost fifteen years ago. Maybe more.

An old, last-minute birthday present she’d made for Maverick. The hockey card was worn, tattered along the corners, and appeared as though it had been folded in half at one point.

She smiled at the details she’d put into the card. She’d cut out a candid photo of Maverick’s face, gluing it on the two-and-a-half by three-and-a-half-inch piece of card stock. Then she’d drawn and colored in the rest of the hockey player’s body. His name was written above with his old junior number, thirteen. Serendipitously, she’d colored his jersey gold, green, and black. The Dragons’ colors.

She turned the case over, reading the back of the card. She’d listed his player stats such as his height, weight, position, and age, and then had made up further information. It was startlingly close to the truth. When she read the last line, she laughed out loud.

Maverick appeared beside her, his face freshly washed. “My mom found that in my things and had it framed. Crazy how close to true it is.”

She showed him the back. “I was your agent!” She laughed again. “What was I thinking when I made this?”

His hands weaved their way around her waist, holding her close. “You’d make a great agent.”

“Because I said princesses don’t belong in the NHL and that you deserved better?”

“You protect my image better than my actual agent does sometimes, but that’s not the reason I’m glad you’re not my agent.” He dropped a kiss on her nose.

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